


The Land Sings Out

by samwise_baggins



Series: Islinne Weyr [9]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, NYPD Blue
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death, Gen, Natural Disasters, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins
Summary: A routine investigation into neglect becomes a struggle for survival when nature strikes.   3386.11.02 to 3387.10.22
Series: Islinne Weyr [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898998
Kudos: 4





	The Land Sings Out

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: AU 10th pass: Rising Sun Cothold (of Monaco Bay Hold) and Informant Crafthall

Rising Sun Cothold, Monaco Bay Hold: 3386.11.02; (10.09.1986):

"Well, I'm waiting!"

The Lord Holder of Monaco Bay stared angrily at Rising Sun's cotholder. He had only kept the man due to his friendship with the man's father, but even loyalty could wear thin. He was now considering forgetting all about friendship.

Journeyman Informant Jonah leaned quietly against the door to the private office; his arms were crossed over his chest in a lounging attitude. The nineteen turn old redhead had been brought in under the guise of a musician and teacher for the young students, but in reality he'd been assigned to report the cotholder's ineptitude to Monaco Bay's mediator over the last two turns; the mediator, in turn, had been passing the reports to Monaco Bay's Lord. Jonah had been able to tell that this hold was poorly run merely using common sense; where the missing funds and supplies had gone had been just as obvious.

A third man in the office was a stooped, gnarled figure well past his fifth decade. He obviously enjoyed the finer things in life, such as rich food and rich wines, which was evidenced by the portly roundness of limb and belly. His face was flushed, and his green eyes darted shiftily from his Lord to the floor to the crafter and back again. If he weren't so miserly and destructive to the cot, Jonah could easily compare him to Cousin Haudrae, but even his abusive cousin wouldn't beggar the people who depended on him.

"Well, Merchalin? Explain why the marks you've been requesting seem to have gone /between/. They obviously haven't been used on any of the Cots you're responsible for." The Lord didn't so much as glance away from the cowering man.

Jonah, on the other hand, let his intense blue eyes drift over the faded and torn hangings, the rotting furniture, and all the growth of moss and fungus across the ceilings and in corners. He suppressed a shudder of disgust and murmured softly, "One good wind would knock this place end over end." Fortunately, no one heard him.

The fourth, and final, man stood behind the Holder, arms crossed over his chest. His snapping black eyes held intelligence and anger as he glared at the inept Cotholder. Grey streaks in his dark brown hair drew attention to this man's mature years. Merchalin's wiles would not easily fool the advisor to Monaco Bay's Lord.

Merchalin cleared his throat then glared menacingly at the younger crafter. He spoke in a whiny voice, defending himself against the charge of misusing the marks. "But, Lord, they have. These cots were far worse several turns ago when I took hold. Whoever," and he glared once more in the crafter's direction, "has been feeding you these lies is obviously unaware of the effort I've put out. Unaware of the sheer amount of work it is to keep forty-odd people safe and fed. Unaware," he again glared at Jonah, who seemed unaffected by all the malice aimed towards him, "of the sheer number of problems I'm faced with in trying to repair these rundown buildings."

Before he could be interrupted by either man, Merchalin went on. "The drudges and workers are lazy and need to be bribed to put out any work. The families are careless and ignore my warnings. The . . ."

"The cotholder is trying my patience!" snapped the Lord. "Here is what will now happen, Merchalin. You will report everything done in this cot and the other three. Daily, there will be a log kept of all renovations and staff services. Every mark will be recorded and every second of the day will be accounted for. I am leaving Lorinton here to assist you in training the workers and drudges properly. He will also guide you in any decisions made for these cots. You hold a good stake of property, Merchalin. Do not make me think twice about who should have such a great responsibility. Am I perfectly understood?"

Merchalin bowed and whined, "Yes, Lord Holder. Of course, Lord Holder."

"And you, Harper. This has been recorded, hasn't it?" He had whirled around to pin the lounging crafter with his gaze.

Jonah stood slowly, thoughtfully. He then bowed slightly in the Lord Holder's direction. "It is heard and witnessed. The harper obeys. The record is made." Though technically the position of harper had been defunct for hundreds of turns, the tradition was never altered. Anyone in a mediator, professor, or archivist's duties could be called on to fulfill the traditional harper's position in a disciplinary situation.

Both men stared intently at one another then the Lord nodded. He turned to the man standing behind him. "Lorinton, I trust this matter will not take too long? We shall miss you at the Hold."

Lorinton clasped arms with his Lord, nodding grimly. "I will not let you down, my Lord. Professor, you will keep a record of what transpires, will you not?"

Jonah nodded and spoke a politely phrased agreement to the archivist task. He wasn't worried about the added duty at all. It was rare that a holder of any rank remembered that a professor could do more than teach children, and the cotholder had no idea he was more than a musically inclined teacher.

The Lord smiled then whirled on Merchalin once more. "I shall be informed every sevenday of your progress. I expect all to be well . . ." he nodded in Lorinton's direction once more, "in time for the festivities." He then left Rising Sun Cot, signaling a worker to bring his runner forward. Lorinton followed to have a private word with his Lord.

When the cotholder and crafter were alone, the older man turned menacingly on the younger. "Fear well, Songmaker. You'll never know when it strikes. I can be just as cunning as you. Believe me, your doom will strike when you least expect it. Sleep with your eyes opened . . . or better yet, don't sleep. You, Songmaker, will regret telling the Lord Holder your . . ." he searched for the right words to finish his dire threat, then grinned when he found them, "harper's tale." He strode out quickly, clouting a drudge across the head for being too slow to get out of his way.

Jonah let himself lean against the office door, permitting it to close, before slowly sliding down the worn surface till he sat on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his arms. A few moments passed then the young man raised his face resolutely. These people deserved a good life.

The children wouldn't suffer in their lessons, either, for all he'd have to spend his afternoons with the mediator and cotholder. He had finally got them to the point where they could recite the Ballads by heart. There was even a promising lad who might make archivist apprentice in a turn or two. He wouldn't run like a wherry. He'd stay and help . . . and keep both eyes open when he slept.

**********

Rising Sun Cothold, Monaco Bay Hold: 3387.10.20; (09.29.1987):

Jonah bolted upright in the pre-dawn gloom. After two months of restless, fearful nights, he had grown accustomed to awaking at the smallest sound, despite nothing dire occurring for nearly a turn. But what had he heard this time? Cocking his head much like a listening hound, the Informant tried to distinguish what had disturbed his pitiful slumber. Nothing . . . or was it?

Was that a soft creak of a hinge? Or footsteps, ever so gently gliding down the hall? A breath beside him? Jonah shuddered and stood, letting the sleeping furs fall back onto the bed. He didn't know why, but he turned and tucked the furs neatly back into place. Taking a step towards the glows, a rumbling, roaring noise surrounded him. Then disaster struck.

Jonah awoke to screams and sobs in the corridors. He pulled his aching body from under the chunk of ceiling that had collapsed on him. Everything was dark, but he knew the cot well. Fumbling with the glow basket lying near him where it had fallen, Jonah managed to brighten the room . . . then wished he hadn't.

The room was a mess. His meager belongings were heaped every which way. The door had come off of too weak hinges, and now it lay against the work table. If Jonah crawled under on his hands and knees . . .

He stood once more in the hallway, seeing the destruction surrounding him. So, it wasn't just Cotholder Merchalin carrying out his dire threat of the previous winter. The whole cot had finally decided to collapse around them. Turning, he glanced into his sleeping room once more. His guitar and pipes had been crushed when the ceiling fell.

Turning back to the hallway, Jonah held his glow basket high. He could see people rushing the half open door. There were twenty-odd people crowding, and someone would get hurt. Jonah couldn't allow that. Raising his voice to be heard over the fearful screams, Jonah let out a roar. He continued to yell at them to settle down and stop rushing. All the while, Jonah pulled people backwards away from the struggling mob.

As people sensed some form of help in the man, they became less panicked. Shoving went to a minimum as they were able to pry open the hold door which had become stuck during the shake. The crafter nodded and ordered, "I want all the able-bodied men to group by the left of the doors. Women, to the right of the door. Children . . . two ranks on the walkway. The sooner we're organized, the sooner we can locate missing people and supplies."

Surprisingly enough, despite the fear still lingering, people listened. Once outside, he looked sadly at the twenty-three survivors. "Did anyone stay behind at the other three Cots when Merchalin called you here yesterday?"

Murmurs were heard then one child's voice came clear to him. "Mama was birthing and stayed with my sister. The two drudges stayed, too."

Other people were mentioned. By the end of the listings, Jonah counted about fourteen people having stayed behind. He looked at the twenty-three people in front of him. That meant there were thirteen people trapped or dead in this cot. He nodded to three strong men. "You check the other cots. There are fourteen people in them altogether. Either find them or find their bodies."

They ran off to search, knowing that family were among those missing.

"What if another earthshake hits, Professor?" A teenage girl spoke up. Just last night she had been whispering with a friend and flirting with him.

He looked at her. "We will put everyone in groups with a leader to keep people calm." Jonah pointed to three men and two women. "Take charge of these people. Ladies, tend wounds and find out just who is here. I want a complete list of who is and is not accounted for."

Whirling, he gestured to two more men. As he opened his mouth to speak, though, the land rumbled again. Children screamed and cried. Everyone looked fearfully around, clutching at their neighbors. Jonah strode to the middle of the group.

"Calm Down!" Such a bellow from the normally quiet crafter got everyone's attention. "If you don't do as I say, more people will die. I need to go in and search for survivors. You two come with me. If . . ." and here he raised his voice, "If I do not return, Jasenti will be in charge." He gestured to the seventeen turn old fosterling.

Some of the men grumbled, but started to hunt for supplies upon the boy's suggestion. Jonah turned, and with his helpers, went back into the fallen structure.

**********

Rising Sun Cothold, Monaco Bay Hold: 3387.10.22; (10.01.1987):

Of the twenty-seven people trapped in the four Cots, twenty had been found so far. Of those twenty, only four had survived. Jonah had been hard pressed these last two days to keep the remaining twenty-six people fed, watered, and calm. On his initial search of the cot, he had found the body of the mediator, Lorinton. Sighing, he knew that he had to keep a tighter control on the frightened, holdless people now, more than ever.

Most of these people were too scared or in too much shock to travel immediately, so they had to stay on. Merchalin was one of the remaining seven they couldn't locate. Likely as not, he had run after the first shake. Jonah had taken over, keeping firm his resolution that the young fosterling remain his assistant. The boy knew enough about holding to be a big help. So far, no one had made any major complaint about the crafter's presumption in taking temporary 'hold'.

Now Jonah crawled through the fourth cot. He'd already gone through the other three. The other men had finally given up. Only Jasenti remained, wending his way through cracks and holes, assisting the crafter as best he could. They were categorizing the dead.

Among those that had died were the woman, new babe, and two drudges that had been mentioned two days ago. The surviving sister and brother were planning to leave the next day, right after sun-up, if the weather permitted. Many others were making plans to leave, despite their injuries. Most wanted to descend on Monaco Bay Hold for assistance; Jonah could only hope they would make it.

The weather worried him as much as the lack of supplies; it was hurricane season and there was every indication that one was approaching quickly. Jasenti agreed with the crafter that there wasn't going to be adequate shelter for all those present. He had slowly been trying to convince the healthier ones to venture into the broken structures of the cotholds to get them used to the idea of using that bit of protection. It was silently assumed that the weaker ones would be brought in only if enough shelter was found. Jonah knew he'd have to exert a strong will if the threatening storm made landfall; he refused to let these men leave the weak out in danger. Jonah also knew that frightened, injured men would find any excuse to fight . . . especially when the fear of more death was added to the mix.

The cot's white signal flag was stretched over one of the broken buildings, precariously held down by broken masonry against the rising wind. No one had yet answered their silent plea for help. The journeyman figured that the Weyr must have been hit, too. He hoped the dragons were all right. He wondered if enough of them would be well enough to fly regular patrols the next day.

A hungry crying broke through his reverie. Jasenti knelt down instantly, scrabbling at the loose stones. Jonah knelt to help him. Their efforts were soon rewarded by the discovery of a small child. The boy was perhaps a turn or two old, judging by his teeth and garbled attempts to be understood.

A body lay beside the child. Its torso and head had been crushed under the stone roofing. Jasenti turned, sick. Jonah drew in a sharp breath then lifted the stone. The woman's face was unrecognizable and so grossly crushed that Jonah was hard pressed not to vomit right then. He weakly called to Jasenti to pull her out. The fosterling did, and the informant lowered the stone carefully.

"We'll bring her body to the pit. The boy . . ." Jonah shook his head, fighting the wave of nausea. He carefully picked up the body and, wrapping the head in her torn skirts, carried her from the wreckage. Just as carefully, the crafter lowered the deceased woman into the burial pit. Finally, he went to the nearby destroyed beasthold and was privately sick.

Jasenti approached the crafter when he came out of the beasthold. "I've asked around. No one will say who he is. They claim they don't know." Jasenti sounded bitter. "I think they believe that if we don't know who he is, we won't bother with him. I think they don't want to lose the rations . . . as if a small child would take that much in food and water."

Jonah nodded, these people had been so neglected and abused by their holder that they showed the same cruelty when their meager rations were threatened: a viscous cycle. "If they think that, then they're mistaken. He's healthy and young. If no one else will claim him, I will." The journeyman informant raised his voice for all to hear, drawing the wary eyes of the people he'd guided through this tragedy. "This is my son now. You'll treat him with the respect which you treat yourself. As for rescue, we'll be saved by the Weyr. The storm will probably be here tomorrow, and the morning patrol will see our flag. If anyone wants shelter for the storm, he will do as I say. Tomorrow, we'll go into the cots and beastholds in groups, and each group will have a leader to keep track of them. There are twenty-eight of us so each group will have seven people."

He paused to see what effect this would have on the crowd. When one of them shouted a question about more earthshakes, Jonah was ready. "If there are aftershakes again tomorrow, wouldn't you rather risk that then a Hurricane? Hurricanes are merciless. These structures can still protect you; they've already withstood everything to come so far, though I don't know how well they might stand to either shakes or storms. I haven't lied to any of you yet, and I won't start now. All we can do is hope for the best. Stay in the structures. Report to your team leaders. Stay calm and help others stay calm. After the storm, I'll lead you all to Monaco Bay Hold for help."

He then started naming the team leaders, eyes roving the crowd as recent memories started pushing to the surface. There was the teenage girl he had singled out two days ago. Her friend had been among those to die in the first shake. Another casualty had been the likely archivist apprentice. The woman that had been in charge of the wounded was a casualty of the aftershakes. A sudden frown crossed the journeyman's features. Pulling his mind away from the mental death tally, Jonah assigned every person to a team and the teams to structures. He instructed them to start gathering supplies.

**************

**************

Informant Crafthall: 3387.10.22; (10.16.1987):

Dressing Maroku into his newest blue trousers, Journeyman Informant Jonah paused. He absently slid the matching tunic over the squirming boy's head as his thoughts drifted backwards, again. Just over two sevendays ago he had been near a dragon for one of the very few times in his life. D'rek had first come to berate them for not having a hurricane crew then had insistently been leading Jonah to his dragon. Before the injured crafter had been able to mount, though, the Lord Holder had come over.

"Thank you, journeyman Jonah, for all you did for my people. I'm having the boy listed as your fosterling son in our Hold records. His name is Maroku; his dam was a weaver here. Because of your guidance, twenty-seven people were saved. There was nothing more you could do for them." He heaved a sigh then continued. "My . . . my daughter will not be having a wedding in one month. Her intended died . . ." The Holder started to turn away.

Jonah reached out and stopped him with a hand on the older man's arm. "Sir . . . one question. Who was the girl that died today?"

"Talani. Merchalin's niece." The Holder strode away to take charge of his people once more.

Jonah shook his head, coming back to reality. He sat the child up and straightened his clothes. These last few days had been swift, despite the long, sleepless nights. He wasn't the only one who had nightmares. Walker cried out as much as four times a night. This change would do them a world of good.

The previous night, Jonah had been tapped to Senior Journeyman, as well, proudly taking his walk to the higher ranking tables. With the new rank came a new posting, and he had been given the choice as to where he wanted to go. Now, they were getting ready to leave, via dragon, to his new posting. He had heard some time back that Telgar Weyr welcomed crafters . . . even informants. Now they would have one more. The move to the Weyr was unique, but it had been approved due to his circumstances; besides, he was Telgar born and so would be going home, even if it wasn't to the hold he'd been raised in.

One last tug of the boy's shirt, and Jonah hefted Maroku into his arms. He carried the happy child out of the room and to the forecourt. Quickly helping the Telgar greenrider to settle his packs and fosterling, Jonah couldn't resist a smile for the pretty brunette. With a saucy tilt of her chin, the rider introduced herself as "Janyss, rider of Lacowskith". Finally, the crafter climbed onto the dragon and willed himself to look around one last time.

As the dragon lifted, Jonah sighed in wonder. He couldn't remember riding brown Morganth. Everything was hazy. They had flown straight to Monaco Bay, not risking his injuries /between/. Once at Monaco Bay Hold, Jonah had been switched off to a young green named Engelth. Again flying straight, in deference to his knife wound, Jonah had slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. He awoke upon landing and it took all of his limited strength to even recall that he should thank the rider and dragon, let alone register that Engelth's young rider was a friendly man named R'phael. The pair had disappeared before Jonah's words had faded into the midday sun.

For this ride, however, Jonah was wide awake. Maroku was laughing in delight, seemingly unafraid of the large, gentle dragons. The boy was too busy flirting with the greenrider they were with, and Jonah smiled for the first time in days. He idly wondered if Maroku would grow up to be a dragonman.

Then they were /between, on to a new life in beautiful Telgar Weyr.


End file.
